Reala, Rex Incuborum
by Lady Spritzy
Summary: Wizeman has risen before, and Reala believes he will rise again. To prepare for his master's return, Reala traverses the whole of the Night Dimension to recovered his lost brethren. As he delves deeper, however, he finds more than the scattered Nightmaren.


_Pre-Story Notes: All_ NiGHTS _characters, places, situations, and ideas are property of SEGA. Other original content is my own. This story is rated T for violence and (possibly) language.  
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**Prologue**

Darkness. If there is one thing I have learned, it is that all things begin in darkness. The day starts at midnight. Pups and babes are blind at birth before blinking in the sun. Humanity drags itself from the morass of ignorance into the light of truth. All of that, from darkness.

I am from, and am of, darkness. All nightmares are. I can see where all others are blind. I can navigate what is clouded to others. I can, with ease, overcome that which has long been my home.

However, even I cannot surmount the trapping tar of unconsciousness.

My mind is hazy as I regain myself. Vaguely, I remember what I am—a Nightmaren. I cling to that concept as my eyes open. Somewhere nearby, I can hear something rustling. Is that the wind? The sky above me is dark, sprinkled with a few dim stars. In my mouth there is the scent of salt.

With a groan, I struggle upright. Nightmaren—what was that again? After a short exertion, I fold my long legs and gratefully dump my hands into my lap. God, I feel as though every bone in my body has combusted. My face contorts as I try to remember what I am—what a Nightmaren is.

Golden claws gleam up at me, trying to pull my mind from the question at hand. Despite myself, I lift a hand—quite the Herculean effort—and stare at the shimmering phalanges. They are mesmerizing, and my exhaustion seems to fade as I gaze at them. A small wind brushes past, and across my chest something slides. For a moment, I stare at the alien thing that fits loosely on my torso before remembering what the tattered jacket is.

With that mystery solved, I look to the sky, wondering if it will have my answers. Images pass through the fog in my mind, and an incessant hum lingers in my skull. Even after a vigorous shake of my head, the buzz does not recede. My hand clutches my face, an irritated sigh hissing through my fingers. For what seems like hours I sit, trying to clear my mind and failing.

In defeat, I free my skull from my grasp, wearily scanning the coarse sand around me. Rock and grass are scattered from here to the horizon, and the dark landscape is a monotonous clutter in all directions. Before me is spread a dark sheet of ocean, gently playing tug-of-war with the beach.

Reala. That was my name—is my name. The knowledge strikes so swiftly that I bury my countenance in my hands again. Once more, my skull buzzes, though this time I can pick some truths from the swarm.

Although I still cannot remember what a Nightmaren is or what it does, I can remember there are others. There was one, little more than a half-complete suit of armor. Another was monstrous, a mix of aristocracy and arachnid. And yet another was a fierce dragon, jagged in pattern and fang. And there was one that was a dog—no, three dogs. I shudder instinctively.

As I try to remember more I gaze again at the sky. My eyes lock onto the moon, proud queen of the night. She is in full regalia, shining brightly so that all may behold her splendor. I can feel the involuntary smile on my lips. At some point I knew some other female, just as bright...

Traitor! She was a traitor. Her name eludes me, but she looked just like me. Was that by chance? No. No, she was my twin. And she betrayed us. Wait, who are we? It does not matter, she betrayed us—betrayed me. And not only once, but twice! How did we survive the first blow?

Vehemently, I claw at my forehead, trying to dig the answers out. They are all there, lined up in the fog and refusing to come forward. Once one is pulled, the rest will fall into place, I know it. But grasping even one thought from the rush in my mind is like trying to snag an oiled eel from the river.

A single image comes to mind, making the first crack in the dam. Smiling. She is smiling. Her mouth is tilted ever-so-slightly. She seems happy, or at least content. But her eyes scream a different story.

"Are you disappointed in me, NiGHTS?" I whisper, gazing at the trail of white foam left by the waves. Whatever guilt I fleetingly felt from this notion is washed away by an immense fear. I failed the Master!

With renewed energy, I leap to my feet. Where is Master Wizeman? My mind reels as the rest of my memories flood back. This happened before, once, when NiGHTS betrayed the Master.

But she could not kill him! Last time, he returned after just a short absence. If only we had been prepared for his return, then this tragedy could not have recurred. Perhaps there is time before the Master returns again to regather the Nightmaren.

I eye the quiet ocean, recalling just how hazardous the waters are. Similar dangers can be found all across the Night Dimension, and the greatest trap for a Maren is Nightopia. In the past, the light has been our downfall—how could we avoid that?

Eagerly, I rise, hovering higher off the ground until I can see beyond this abandoned beach. From the ground, something glimmers invitingly at me—something familiar. I drop, my boots crunching in the sand as I land. Gingerly, I kneel beside the golden trinket—a dusty mask. With ease and gentility, I lift the discarded object from the dirt and delicately brush sand from the dark fathers around its fringes.

Mesmerized by its shimmer, I cannot help but put it on. My regret is instant—my face is burning. It clings to my skull, and immense fatigue crushes me like a boulder. Scrabbling, my claws have trouble finding purchase on the damnable thing. Finally, one finger catches between my face and the mask. The thing clutches tighter, and only after a struggle do more of my claws worm underneath it.

With a grunt, I wrench the mask free, staring at it. My skin stings in contact with the cursed metal. I can feel my mouth curl in disgust. Before I think about it any longer, I fling it from me, listening to its distant splash.

"Probably the traitor's," I spit, turning on my heel and taking off, surging towards the dark horizon of Nightmare.

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_AN: This is a story idea I've been wanting to do for years now, and even attempted at one point in high school. However, I was not happy with it, so I'm giving it another shot._

_As I am,_

_Lady Spritzy_

_3/27/2014_


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